The Last Bastion

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2026-06-07 05:27:06 -

The Last Bastion

The mud of the Ardennes was a hungry thing, swallowing boots, wheels, and men with an indifferent greed. Marcus leaned against the frozen bark of a pine tree, his breath coming in ragged, white plumes. He was twenty-four, but in the reflection of a rain-puddle, he saw a man of fifty. Marcus had not been born a leader. He had been a quiet clerk in a provincial library, a man who preferred the...

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